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In the innocent heart nothing can be repeated. When the Greek philosopher Heraclitus said we can never step in the same river twice, he also knew that we can never meet the same person twice, that to say the word "bread" can never do justice to its shape and texture, to the unique moment when this particular piece is softened with butter as we prepare to put it in our mouth. Rumi delights in this freshness.
Lord, the air smells good today, straight from the mysteries
within the inner courts of God.
A grace like new clothes thrown across the garden,
free medicine for everybody.
The trees in their prayer, the birds in praise.
We cannot predict how this awareness of mystery will reawaken in us, or in what form. Long ago I lived with one of my first loves and her young children, Seth and Chani. When the children were three and five years old the Ringling Brothers circus came to town. As a treat I bought tickets for us, ringside seats, right in the center, two rows back.
The children liked the clowns and the tigers. Most of the other acts -- the high wire, the jugglers, the contortionists, the trained horses -- were too far away, too small to seem especially remarkable to a young child’s eyes.
But then the elephants came out, with their feathered plumes and sequined riders. In formation, they circled the ring twice, coming right near us. Then they stopped while the ringmaster talked. All at once the big elephant just in front of us began to pee; a huge flood cascaded to the sand below, making a giant puddle. The children’s eyes grew wide. And then the elephant began to poo. Large, bowling ball-sized spheres thudded to the ground, one at a time, plop, plop, thwack. Each was observed with increasing wonder and excitement.
When we got home, and for weeks after that, the children talked about going to the circus. And what they told and recounted over and over was the story of the elephant. That was the most amazing circus act of all.
It is life itself that is astonishing, each unique moment. Zen honors this mystery for its own sake -- each thing in its turn. As Kodo Rishi teaches, "You don’t eat in order to poo, you don’t poo in order to make manure." With the same eyes of wisdom, we don’t practice meditation or prayer to make some special reality. Eating, walking, speaking, seeing, breathing, defecating, each is amazing in itself.
This innocent heart, our Buddha Nature, the Child of the Spirit, the Holy One within is never degraded nor lost. It is never born and never dies. To see in this way is to see, as the Tao says, "with eyes unclouded by longing." When we awaken this innocent heart, we find our true home. At ease, we celebrate the simple marvels of every day.
Zen Master Dogen reminds us: "The life of one day is enough to rejoice. Even though live for just one day, if you can be awakened, that one day is vastly superior to one endless life of sleep…If this day in the lifetime of a hundred years is lost, will you ever touch it with your hands again?"
-- Jack Kornfield, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry
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